I WROTE my remorse on a forest-leaf
 That the wind might bear it to you;
But the wind cared nothing for my grief
And over your roof it flew.
I wrote my remorse on a leaf for you;
                       But you never knew.

I wrote my remorse on the glimmering sand
Where your tired feet might stray;
But the sea rose up and covered the land
And carried my words away.
I wrote my remorse on the sand for you;
                       But you never knew.

I wrote my remorse on the breast
Of the Sphinx with the woman's eyes;
And your name remained — but the rest, the rest
Turned sorcery and lies!
I wrote on the Sphinx's breast for you;
                       But you never knew.

And now, when you weep o'er the spot
Where, earth in earth, I rot.
Do you read, as the rank-grown grass you pull,
What remorse has a grinning skull?
And do you laugh too and let all go?
                       I shall never know!